Quotes About Silence

To stand in the shadow of the scar up in the air. To stand-for-no-one-and-nothing. Unrecognized, for you alone. With all there is room for in that, even without language.

Go blind now, today: eternity also is full of eyes - in them drowns what helped images down the way they came, in them fades what took you out of language, lifted you out with a gesture which you allowed to happen like the dance of the words made of autumn and silk and nothingness.

The sea, tasted, drunk away, dreamed away. An hour soul-eclipsed. The next, an autumn light, offered up to a blind feeling which came that way. Others, many, with no place but their own heavy centres: glimpsed and avoided. Foundlings, stars, black, full of language: named after an oath which silence annulled.

What times are these when a conversation is almost a crime because it includes so much made explicit?

Erst wenn ich dich als Schatten berühre, glaubst du mir meinen Mund, der klettert mit Spät- sinnigem droben in Zeithöfen umher, du stößt zur Heerschar der Zweitverwerter unter den Engeln, Schweigewütiges sternt.

Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss. But it had to go through its own lack of answers, through terrifying silence, through the thousand darknesses of murderous speech.

Winning the war of words involves choosing our words carefully. It is not just about the words we say, but also about the words we choose not to say.

I think often we opt for silence, willingly avoiding issues and letting wrong things go on unchecked, not because we love the other person, but because we love ourselves and just don't want to go through the hassle of dealing with something that God says is clearly wrong.

Love calls you to be silent when you want to speak, and to speak when you would like to be silent.

I never read. It prevents me from thinking.

We will never forget those sombre valleys where the mist never lifts. The sudden ambuscade, arrows whipping like a swarm of hornets from the trees. Silent assassins crawling on their bellies, axe in one hand, knife in the other.

To put it bluntly but also imploringly: we Christians need more silence in our services and liturgies. Just how this might be realized, just how we

If Mystery is the goal and content of all religious experience, then Silence is a necessary means of letting Mystery speak.

Christian prayer is generally too worshipful and therefore dualistic. And it is too wordy.

In sum, passing over to Buddhist spiritual practice has taught me, and can teach my church, that all our words, whether in Christian theology or Christian liturgy, must arise from and lead back to Silence. Only then do they have something to say.

There is a song within us all. I know this now because in the long silences of the open ocean I have heard it. It resounds. It is perpetual. It cannot be ignored. It is sweet. You can try to dismiss it, but it is more forceful than you are; it can drive you in ways of which you will not be conscious, for it is setting the tempo of your life even more strongly than the beat of your heart. Over time its volume will vary: one minute shrill, whispering the next. Yet it remains and is all-powerful

I have always liked what the Scarecrow said to Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. "Some people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don't they?

Better the fool who remains silent than the fool who who speaks and demonstrates his foolishness. Better still, the one who listens carefully.

When you're in love with someone, you want to talk about every single thing in existence with them- while simultaneously saying nothing and just enjoying their presence.

Nature is garrulous to the point of confusion, let the artist be truly taciturn.

It is better to let people think you are a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.

There was no sound, and this compounded the unreality of the situation. In the course of a raucous evening, nothing is louder than silence.

What you mean? Whaih you think Gawd is?' Joe remained sullenly silent. His mother's faith was too stalwart for his comprehension. There was nothing like it in his own soul to interpret it.

Lately she'd been charting Bobby's moods like a meteorologist watching tropical storms. Something was bothering him, and he wasn't talking.